


hate myself tomorrow (on my way tonight)

by TypicalRockstar



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Barebacking, Light Spanking, M/M, Mostly Pwp, Reaction, Worlds 2019
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-25
Updated: 2019-05-25
Packaged: 2020-03-14 17:48:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18952954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TypicalRockstar/pseuds/TypicalRockstar
Summary: William doesn't cry.





	hate myself tomorrow (on my way tonight)

William doesn't cry. He tries his hardest, zones everything out and focuses solely on not crying. Even though he can feel the burning in his eyes and the wetness threatening to glisten, telling, in the bright arena lights. There’s almost definitely a camera on him, he knows how this goes. He feels entirely too exposed, like every layer’s been peeled back and he’s been set center stage. Vulnerable. 

He wishes he could go, wishes he could hide his face, hide behind someone else, hide in his shirt — something, anything. But there’s nowhere to go, so he folds his hands in front of him, subconsciously bites at his gloves, anxious. He tries not to be obvious, but the shield of them is at least  _ something. _

William doesn't cry, but it's a near thing.

 

~

 

It’s all kind of blur, William too busy trying to keep himself under control. He’s sure it shows on face, the lifelessness, the everything drained out of him. He doesn’t care.

He goes up for the picture when they call his name, tries not to look too miserable in it, tries to keep that shoved down and down. The noise of the arena feel far off, muted like it’s through a door, like he’s barely even there. 

Alex bumps their shoulders together on the way back to the dressing room, doesn’t say anything else. He doesn’t need to, William gets it. The silent conversation, the solidarity, is heard loud and clear. 

Oskar saves him a seat on the bus. William takes it but the ride back to the hotel is silent. No one tries anything, and maybe the tension would feel suffocating if William wasn’t already suffocating in his own head. 

The ride is short, the streets of Košice blur in a streak of browns and grey. William both watches it and doesn’t. They get back to the hotel soon enough. 

 

~

 

Oliver understands immediately, feels William’s presence at his side when he hangs back behind everyone else to stay outside the hotel, cigarette already procured from the inside pocket of his jacket. And when he senses William settle in, he reaches for his pocket again without asking, grabs another and holds it out to him without even looking.

William takes it easily, holds it out for Oliver to light without a word. 

“You’re lucky I rolled a few this morning.”

“What, you had a feeling?” William says, bitter. He takes a long drag, watches the smoke swirl when he blows it out in a steady stream. 

“Don’t know about you but I don’t have the will to roll any right now,” Oliver shrugs, doesn’t really answer the question. It’s okay, William holds his tongue, knows better than to accidentally take this out on Oliver. 

They stay there, leaning against the wall, smoking in silence. There’s a leak from the overhang, steadily dripping into a puddle on the walkway. The water flows steadily between the cobblestones, closer and closer to the road. They both watch it more intensely than what’s probably normal.

William taps his ash off, watches it fall. He sighs, takes on more drag, then drops what’s left on the ground, stomps it out. Oliver looks at him curiously, but he pushes off the wall until he’s standing straight. He shrugs, inhales on it one more time, then follows William’s lead. He lets it fall without watching, though, studying William instead. 

Eventually, William raises an eyebrow at him, a silent question, a request, an invitation all in one. Oliver lets it hang for a moment, just to be sure, but he nods in the end and grinds the butt out with his heel.

He starts toward the hotel entrance then, isn’t surprised when William catches up to him, pressed up at his side again. 

“Yeah?” Oliver says, breaks the silence. He looks William in the eye now, searches his face.

William looks right back, and if Oliver didn’t know better, he’d say his eyes get just a little bit shinier, and little bit wider. But then William blinks and looks away and it’s all disappeared, just like that.

“Yeah.” 

So Oliver calls the elevator and only presses one button. 

 

~

 

William goes for it as soon as the doors clicks shut behind them.

It’s not like he  _ throws _ himself at Oliver, exactly, but it isn’t the most graceful thing in the world either. He’s clawing to get out of his head, desperate to just… just… to just feel something fucking else already. 

Oliver’s a little startled at first, but not enough to get too off track. He presses William against the wall, lets William roam his hands until they’re untucking his shirt, feeling him up in a messy scramble. 

William appreciates it, appreciates when Oliver helps him get the buttons undone just enough until he can slip it over his head. He pops the buttons on his own shirt while Oliver shucks it, and his pants, too.

They’re in their briefs soon enough, moved from the wall to the bed. Oliver wants him to get in his lap at first but William tugs him until Oliver gives in and crowds him up on the bed, presses him against the headboard. William melts for it, reaches between them until he can get a hand on Oliver’s cock. It’s hot and hard and growing already, but William gets to work coaxing it up while Oliver gets his hands in William’s hair and kisses the air out of him. 

Somewhere along the way, Oliver’s hand snakes down, cups a handful of William’s ass. He kneads at it, pinches it even, all while shoving his tongue in and out of William’s mouth. It’s a lot at once, and it’s exactly what William wants, what he came here for. He groans into the mess of a kiss, makes sure that Oliver knows.

Pretty soon William’s got his briefs around his thighs and hands edging closer and closer to where he wants them most. 

Except. Oliver leans for the side table, grabs a tube from the drawer.

William immediately swats the lube out of Oliver’s hand, presses up against him, as much skin-to-skin as he can manage, desperately pushing them together. 

“Wille,” Oliver says, half-cautious, half-warning; eventually sighs and pushes William off of him until he falls into the mattress with a soft  _ thud. _

Annoyed, William stays there, sinks all of his weight helplessly into the bed, blows air out through pursed lips.

“I don’t want to  _ feel _ ,” William finally says, frustrated when the words don’t sound quite right. He tries again, repeats it in English, but it still doesn’t hold the right connotation for the aching in his chest, in his stomach, in his head. In every inch of his body, really. “I just. I don’t want to think about… about  _ anything.” _

He doesn’t know when he closed his eyes, but they are now, and he only knows what Oliver’s doing when he feels the mattress dip with his weight, feels the warmth of his hand hovering just briefly before it runs through his hair, sweeping over his forehead first. 

It’s not nearly what William wants, but it still feels nice. He leans into it, doesn’t shy away.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Oliver says after a while, after it’s too obvious to ignore that William’s growing restless again. 

William flutters his eyes open, blinks until they re-adjust to the dim light of Oliver’s hotel room. He looks at Oliver, swallows, then shakes his head. 

“No, I don’t,” he says, honestly. He pauses, switches to English, and suddenly it’s a little bit easier. Feels a little less real, a little less raw, when it’s not in Swedish. Another layer, another wall. So be it. 

“I meant it, I don’t want to think about it, I don’t want to feel like this.” He looks away then, isn’t shy about it but isn’t confrontational, either. “I want you to fuck me — really fuck me — so I can forget. Just for a little bit.”

Oliver sighs, runs his hand through his own hair now. He switches into English, too, doesn’t question it. “I don’t want to hurt you, and I feel like this isn’t a good idea when you’re like this.”

William turns over onto his stomach then, stretches his arms out until he can turn his head and lay on top of them. He sticks his ass up, just a little. 

“Please, Olle,” he whines, and his tone is different now, like he’s flipped a switch and thrown on a different mask. He blinks up at him through his lashes, coy. “I need you to fuck me, you have to,” then, softer, “ _ someone _ has to.”

It’s not a threat but it’s certainly an implication. 

But Oliver isn’t dumb. 

“Yeah? Who, then?” He touches him then, finally, just a hand on William’s thigh, nowhere near high enough to be anything just yet, but enough of an acquiescence to let William know he’s bought into his game. 

Oliver leans over him then, practically covering him entirely. He kisses the jut of William’s jaw line just below his ear, takes his ear between his teeth for just a second. William doesn’t react much, not yet, doesn’t give it to him before he’s earned it, but he does tip his neck to give Oliver more room. 

He feels Oliver’s words, breath over his skin, before he hears them. “Would you go beg Wenne? Began? Natural chemistry, that’s what they say, right? Is that it?”

William feels his throat go dry, feels the faintest tease of that electric feeling jolt through his chest, straight to his groin. He can’t manage words, he shakes his head, angles himself more like an offering.

Oliver doesn’t stop, though. “I bet you’d get on your knees right in front of Ogge. Doesn’t matter where, you’d drop everything to get his dick, his  _ attention, _ you would.” It’s not a question, it’s… an accusation? An observation? Fact?

William whimpers, even as he tries to keep it in. Oliver grins, just a hair above his skin. He goes back to sucking at his neck, then, works at it for a moment before pausing again. His breath chills William’s wet skin and it sends goosebumps all over his body. 

“I know who you’d really throw yourself at,” Oliver says low, cruel this time. “You’d go right down the hall and throw yourself at Henke, shameless, like a callboy,” Oliver stops to bite, sharp and quick but enough to be annoying. “A cheap one, too.”

“Hey,” William frowns, knows Oliver’s fucking around now. Well, about the second part, anyway. He makes a face. “You’re my captain, I’m  _ your _ responsibility,” he licks his lips, “aren’t I?”

Oliver stops nipping at him then, takes his cheek in one hand and angles him gently so he can kiss him on the lips, sweet and tender. William kisses him back, but frowns.

“Hush,” Oliver says before William can whine. “Just a little lube, okay. I don’t want to really hurt you, but,” he switches back to Swedish, as if it’ll solidify his promise, “I’ll give you what you need. Trust me.”

“ _ Okej _ ,” William says on an exhale. He takes another breath, full, then nods again. “I trust you.”

Oliver must’ve been waiting for it because he goes for it right that second, grabs William by the hips and flips him back onto his back in one easy move. William hadn’t been expecting it, his breath catches and his heartbeat jumps.

It’s  _ good. _

Oliver doesn’t waste time, he shoves William’s hand over his head, hastily grips his wrists in one hand, pins him with it. William tugs at it, tries to squirm, to get out of it. Not because he wants to, but to make sure. 

To his satisfaction, Oliver holds him there and doesn’t let up. He does shoot him a look, though, a warning, so William concedes and lets himself lose himself in it. 

Despite the new sense of desperation, Oliver takes his time. He holds William down and bites at his chest. He licks over William’s nipples, twists one between his fingers with his free hand. He’s careful not to leave hickies but he sucks hard enough to leave a spot of red that will fade away by morning. The marks decorate the skin at William’s neck, his collarbone, his chest. 

All the while William lays there, debates between closing his eyes and sinking into it or watching Oliver take him apart in real time. He cycles between both, overcome with a wave of overwhelming feelings — both physical and mental — every time he does. 

Eventually, Oliver squeezes his wrists and lets go. William doesn’t know what to do with his hands so he keeps them there, still crossed at the wrist. He peers down to see what Oliver’s doing, curious. 

Oliver is looking at him, and once William meets his eye he doesn’t break eye contact. He carefully trails down William’s chest, his abdomen, pausing to suck on one particular spot or leave a soft kiss in his tracks. He goes lower and lower, until he’s right there, close enough for William to feel his breath over his sensitive skin.

He sucks a mark, a real one this time, just below William’s hip. It’s so close to his erection that William feels the heat off Oliver’s cheek. His dick twitches, helplessly, wanting. If Oliver notices (and he probably does), he ignores it.

He sits up then, and William wants to scream. 

“Trust me,” Oliver says, a reminder if anything, like he knows exactly what’s going through William’s head. 

Sure enough, Oliver catches him off guard again, flips him back over and manhandles him until he gets his knees under him, ass up and all. William suddenly feels overwhelmingly exposed, maybe a little vulnerable again. It feels too much like before, like—

“Hey,” Oliver says, runs a hands down William’s spine, back up again. “You good?”

It snaps William out of it. He folds his arms under his head. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

“Good,” Oliver straightens up, “then you can take this.”

Before William can ask what he means, Oliver’s pulling back and smacking his ass, open-palm, in one big swing.

“ _ Shit, _ ” William curses, but holds steady. It sounded harsher than it actually hurt, but William clings to the way it smarts, a lingering low burn. Oliver does it again, the other side this time, and the sharp sting on first impact pulls William straight out of his head, a short-circuit that clears out everything except the feeling of right now, right here.

William didn’t lie, he’s trusted Oliver this whole time, has always trusted him, but suddenly he gets it, knows without a doubt now that Oliver knows what he’s doing. 

Oliver spanks him a few more times, each one calculated and placed with purpose. Each time it sends William closer and closer to whatever it is he’s craving here. He doesn’t know, doesn’t know if Oliver even knows, but trusts that Oliver will at least get him there.

He’s already half floating in it, the feeling of just letting go, of just focusing on the heat radiating off his ass and the electricity across his skin whenever Oliver touches him. He’s already beginning to get lost in it when he feels the familiar drizzle of lube over his hole, startles out of his haze when the coolness of it hits in stark contrast. 

“Olle—”

“Just a little,” Oliver hushes him. He emphasizes it by spreading William’s cheek with one hand, uses the other to dip his fingers in the lube, smearing it over William’s hole.

“Not too much,” William says, maybe a little pleading, “I want to feel it.”

Oliver replies by pushing his fingers in then — two at once, a different kind of  _ too much, _ the kind that William latches onto, melts into, nearly chokes on. 

He does cough, though, and it makes Oliver laugh. 

“You asked for it like this,” Oliver reminds him, and William can hear the grin his voice. 

“More,” is all William says.

Oliver tests a couple more thrusts, but obliges quickly enough. He’s slipping in a third finger, scissoring them quickly, hurried to open William up and give him what he wants. 

It’s a little hasty, but William wouldn’t have it any other way. He lets it go on for a little bit, pushes helpfully into it. Oliver rewards with a little squeeze at his hip, a kiss at the dimples on his back. 

“More,” William repeats after some time. But this time he doesn’t mean more fingers, and Oliver understands. Paradoxically, he removes them, reaches for the side table again to wipe them off on a tissue. 

William clenches around nothing, tries not to get restless with the emptiness. He doesn’t like really the feeling, the anticipation, but it keeps him alert, keeps him head focused on something.

Oliver leans over him, kisses his shoulder. “Do you want me to use a condom?”

“Oh,” William hadn’t thought about it. They probably should, but they did just get new physicals passed two weeks ago. It really isn’t a health question as it is William’s preference. This is, after all, Oliver giving him what he asked for. 

“It’s up to you,” Oliver says, but it isn’t in a way that rushes him. It’s sincere.

Eventually, William shrugs. “No, don’t use it.”

Oliver inhales through his nose, more audible than he probably intended it to be. “You sure?”

“Mhm,” William confirms, muffled where he turns his face back into his arms. “I think I want to feel you, I think it would help.”

Oliver scoffs, but he doesn't question him. “Whatever helps, Wille, I got you.”

William feels Oliver drag his dick between his cheeks a couple of time, hot, just barely wet with a quick pump of lube. Not too much, just like he promised. The tip brushes over him a couple of time, catches there, almost teasing.

On one of the passes where it catches, Oliver finally follows through and pushes in without warning. It startles a gasp out of William, but it hits him like a jolt, like a jumpstart. His cock stretches him wide, it burns a little, just this side of hurts, but it’s perfect, it’s delicious, it’s everything William wants right now.

He clings to the feeling of it, sharp and maybe a little uncomfortable, but absolute unignorable. He’s forced to face it, forced to focus on it, forced to drop everything else and focus on it and it alone.

William doesn’t hold back, groans loud and uninhibited when Oliver makes it all the way, hips pressed up against the rounds of his still-smarting ass.

“Fuck, Olle,” he whines when Oliver stays there for a second. He’s got a hand at William’s hip, another smoothing over the expanse of his back.

“Ready?” Oliver asks, once William just starts to relax. Good call, William thinks, catching him before he gets too comfortable.

“Rail me,” William groans, lewd, “please.”

Oliver laughs, light, but the hand at his hip tightens and the other pushes down on his upper back, holds him down. William breathes in and Oliver must track it because as soon as he begin to exhale, he starts. Really starts.

He doesn’t build up to it, doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t hold back. It’s quick thrusts, not quite shallow but not quite deep, pistoning in and out of William, who’s held in place, held still for it.

William whines under his hands. He screws his eyes shut, tuned into the feeling of Oliver inside him, the drag of his cock against his walls, tugging at his rim. It’s still on the drier side; he feels every movement that much more.

He doesn’t know when he starts up with the little noises but he catches himself caught in a string of whimpers, cut with gasps in time with every thrust. His fists are clenched, knuckles white and probably leaving nail marks in his palms. He doesn’t care, it’s good, even. Maybe.

“Harder,” William manages to grind out at some point. “Come the fuck on, Olle, give it to me.”

“Brat,” Oliver says with no heat. He rises to the challenge, though, starts really going at it. The hand on William’s back goes to his neck, grip tight. William whines, melts into his hold. Oliver shoves into him with a new energy, really pushes into him, deeper and deeper.

“Can you take it?” Oliver goads him. “All you do is run your mouth, you little shit, but can you take it?”

It’s hard to make words happens, when Oliver’s punching little “ah”s out of him, when he can barely keep up with his breath, his heartbeat racing, loud in his ears. But William perseveres, pride right there on his tongue. 

“I said  _ harder, _ ” he demands,  _ actually _ bratty now, but it’s whatever because it does exactly what he wants it to do. 

Oliver releases his neck but uses it to smack his thigh, hard. “Careful what you ask for, Nyllet,” he says through his teeth. He has both hands at his hips now, fingers tight, probably tight enough to leave bruises in the morning. William’s dick twitches at the thought. 

With new motivation, Oliver uses his hold to pull William into his thrusts, manhandles him in time with every in and out of his cock. He’s really going at it now, steals the breath right out of William’s lungs every time he shoves in.

“This what you want, Wille?” Oliver keeps going. “Wanna forget everything, right? Go dumb on my cock?”

“Fuck you,” William groans, face heating with how hot Oliver’s words get him. He arches his back more, gets his ass up higher, without realizing it. 

“I am,” Oliver laughs, earns him a particularly extra hard thrust. It hits his prostate dead-on and William shouts, nearly comes right there. He clenches down, hard, which clearly does something for Oliver if his own yelp is anything to go by.

“Fuck, you think you can come on my cock?”

William groans, because that’s certainly a thought. He doesn’t know though, if he really could, or if that’s really what he wants. Oliver lets up a little to let him answer, probably to let himself catch his breath, too.

Eventually, William shrugs, lets his head fall lazily to the other side. “I don’t want to. I want you to get me off.”

“Okay,” Oliver says without hesitation, hand already reaching around, gripping William easily around the base. “I got you, okay? Just feel, I’ll take care of you.”

It’s easy to listen to Oliver, feels like second nature by now. It’s easy to put his head down for once and close his eyes and just float for a little, to let Oliver take care of it. To take care of him. 

It’s easy to let go.

Oliver knows what he’s doing, uses just the right amount of pressure, keeps it in time with his cock. He tugs at him with just a little twist in his wrist, brushes the thumb over his slit, dips into it until it coaxes precome, even.

“Olle, I’m—” William cuts off with a gasp, can’t remember what language he’s thinking in, can’t remember how to form words at all. “Hngh,” he groans, frustrated, instead. 

“Do it,” Oliver tells him, “come for me.”

And, easy to do what Oliver says, William comes right then, comes in his hand. He feels his orgasm through his whole entire body, feels it like a burst, a high, in his head, feels it spread like a drug in his bloodstream, feels it flow through him. 

He comes and comes, all while Oliver works him through it, not letting up one bit. It leaves him feeling boneless, like dead weight sinking into the mattress. He feels himself droop in Oliver’s hold, feels himself go lazy with it. 

Oliver slides out of him and he’s sensitive enough that the drag is kinda uncomfortable, but he’s too tired out to care too much. Oliver apologizes, hushed whispers that dust over him, kisses his shoulder and holds him tight to make up for it.

“Mm,” William hums, “you can come on me.”

That gets a noise out of Oliver, who is busy rearranging him until he’s comfortably laid out across the bed. William isn’t looking, but he can hear the sound of it, the sound of Oliver stripping his own cock, his breath, catching on every other pass. 

“Come on, Olle,” William murmurs, smile light on his lips. “Mark me up.”

“Fuck,” Oliver groans, throaty under his breath. “Wille,” he moans, strained. 

William feels him come over his back, hot spurts all over his back, his ass, running down over his thighs. He sighs, satisfied, squirms for Oliver, even. A thank you for giving him what he needed, the least he can do. 

Oliver collapses next to him. He’s covered in a sheen of sweat, his breathing heavy. “Christ, Wille.”

“Good?”

“Mm,” Oliver nods. They lay like that, content to soak in the afterglow while the world slowly comes back into focus. It’s not as bad, when it does, the ache of the loss a little less heavy, a little less sharp.

“Stay there,” Oliver says after some time. William’s eyes are closed, not quite asleep yet but not fully awake either. He feels Oliver shift from the bed, hears his feet on the carpet. 

There’s the distant noise of a door, then the faucet running. William isn’t surprised when he hears Oliver return, feels a wet cloth on his back. 

“Thanks,” William mumbles into the sheets. 

“Sure.” Oliver is thorough, swipes over the curve of his ass, his thighs, his crack. He does his hole, too, tenderly, and William tries not to flinch too much. Oliver soothes him with sweet nothings all through it, murmured assurances that lull William back to sleep.

 

~

 

He wakes up to the smell of coffee.

“Mm,” he stirs, stretches out his arms and blinks awake. He cracks a kink in his shoulders, carefully sits up. “Morning.”

Oliver’s there like magic, two coffee cups in his hands. He holds one out to William with a little grin. “Hey.”

William sits up gingerly, winces a little at the ache. It’s not too bad, kind of nice actually, but the first wave of it in the morning wakes him up a little more than he’d expected. 

Oliver must notice because he laughs a little, ruffles William’s hair just to nuisance. He sets his coffee down on the side table then heads back to the desk. William watches him pick up two plates, one already half-eaten and then other with a fresh kanelbullar, untouched. 

“Hell yes,” William grins immediately, makes hands for the plate. Oliver rolls his eyes but hands it to him easily. 

“Special delivery from the staff,” Oliver explains. “I got it from the team room.”

“Thank god,” William practically moans, mouth already full with his breakfast. 

They eat in silence for a bit, long enough for the coffee to kick in and for William to fully wake up. It practically inhales his kanelbullar, and then the rest of Oliver’s too, when he offers it up. William figures he caught him staring at it, considering he rolled his eyes when he begrudgingly gave it up. It’s good, it’s comfortable.

“So,” Oliver says, then, taking William’s empty plate from him. “Do you want to talk about it?”

William shrugs. “I don’t know, I mean sure, but,” he pauses, tries to sort his thoughts. “I don’t know why it helps but it does. I feel better now.”

“That’s good,” Oliver says, joining him on the bed. He throws an arm around William, pulls him in until he’s resting on his chest. “I just want to make sure you’re okay.”

“Still kind of bummed,” William admits, but he doesn’t sound too upset. “But I think the worst of it is over. My head’s clear enough to reflect now, I guess. Appreciate the good parts.” 

He opens his mouth to keep going, but hesitates, unsure. Oliver waits, patient, and eventually William decides to say it. “I’ve been working with the team sports psychologist, in Toronto, I mean. I’m trying to grieve or whatever the way she’s talked to me about.” He shrugs.

Oliver kisses the top of his head, hugs him around the middle. “Hey, that’s good, really good.” He rests his chin on William’s shoulder. “I’m proud of you, Wille. Seriously.”

William swallows, the assurance his him hard, means more to him that he thought it would. He feels it swell in his chest, feels his heart pump a little more full.

“Thank you, that means a lot.”

Oliver kisses him, then, the angle a little weird, but still soft and nice. He tastes like coffee and cinnamon and it makes William smile.

“Will you visit me over the summer?” William teases, still grinning.

“Of course,” Oliver scoffs. “I want to do a few days with your trainer, anyway. The one in Danderyd? Should be good for my skating.”

“He’ll be good for you,” William agrees. “Let me know, we’ll have fika.”

That makes Oliver laugh. “You’re a kanelbullar fiend, you know that?”

“Yes and I wear that title proudly.”

“Add it to your ever growing list,” Oliver teases, and William blushes then, the reminder of his achievements, still metaphorical fresh ink on his Wikipedia page. He kind of can’t believe it, still.

They cuddle for a little bit longer, lazy but good. It’s nice to have Oliver with him, to keep him grounded, distracted. To keep him from ruminating in his head. 

Eventually, an alarm goes off and Oliver untangles them, dives for his phone. “Time to face the music,” he says, apologetic. “You wanna shower here?”

Blinking back into focus, William wiggles out of bed, stretches his limbs out as he stands. He shakes his head, starts collecting his clothes, lazily pulling them on. “Nah, I should probably get some of my stuff packed, anyway.”

“Okay,” Oliver grabs his chin, kisses him one last time. “I’ll see you in a bit then.”

“Thanks,” William says, and means it. “See you.”

William goes then, alone for the first time since the loss, but it doesn’t feel so bad now. It’s good; he’s good.

 

♛ ♛ ♛

  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Flash edited, sorry for any typos!  
> Title from 'Lonely Together' by Avicii 
> 
> This year's Trekronor run was really emotional for me for some reason? I got really invested in it and I don't know, we had _so much_ quality Willy content all the time and he did _so fucking good_ and I'm just very proud of him. This is also the first year my Swedish was good enough for me to really appreciate all the Swedish press, and good lord they love Willy and have so many nice things to say about him? 
> 
> Anyway, my heart was so incredibly broken after their elimination; there are so many other WIPs I should be dedicating fic-writing power to but this just kind of. Happened. Also I know the pairing choice is a little out there considering the endless choices, but I love a solid captain-star player relationship, and they had some very nice moments and the cutest cellies throughout the tourney so 🤷
> 
> Cheers to a good run, Trekronor, love you a whole lot. 
> 
> Cry with me on twitter @[pinkmanite](https://twitter.com/pinkmanite) 💙


End file.
